


ballroom waltz

by kindlingchild



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crimson Flower route spoilers, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 21:37:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21417073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindlingchild/pseuds/kindlingchild
Summary: hubert and ferdinand dance until the war is over.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 5
Kudos: 197





	ballroom waltz

**Author's Note:**

> yells in ferdibert im so weak for these two idiots
> 
> enjoy!! x

It starts in the Imperial hideout, right after Edelgard revealed her identity as the Flame Emperor to the archbishop.

Ferdinand von Aegir stands alone in a corner, pondering to himself if this had been the right path to take. He was to be the Prime Minister, and he was to stay by Edelgard’s side, but a _ war? _ Against the church no less— Ferdinand found himself at somewhat of an utter loss. He tugs at the ends of his ginger hair, thoughts flashing between the hours he spent praying as a child and the horrifying image of Rhea turning into the Immaculate One, sights set on eliminating Edelgard and the Professor entirely.

He had gotten injured in the battle in the Holy Tomb, his side cut open with one quick flick of an Imperial Soldier’s sword. Linhardt had exhausted himself trying to heal the deep wound, so Ferdinand had been left with an open wound, albeit halted bleeding.

He’s on the verge of a breakdown as he hides himself away from prying eyes that watch him cautiously, but before he can move to leave the hideout for a breath of fresh air, a gentle hand is placed on his shoulder.

He half expects to turn around and see Dorothea or Petra, but when he does, all he sees is get black and piercing lime coloured eyes staring straight into his soul. He would have jumped out of his skin, had his mind not been occupied with more pressing matters of morality.Of all people, he least expected Hubert von Vestra to look for him.

“Come to chide me once more? Tell me I am not good enough to stand by Edelgard’s side?” Ferdinand tries, and fails, to hide the voice crack that slithers in between his words, and he quickly turns his head away from Hubert before the loyal vassal could see the tears that threatened to fall. Ferdinand von Aegir did not cry, especially not over such trivial matters. He knew the answer was to stay loyal to the Empire. But his heart had sang hymns since he was all but a child— how could he betray the Goddess that protected him from his father?

Hubert’s hand falls off his shoulder— perhaps he had decided dealing with Ferdinand in his current state to be a waste of time— and suddenly there’s the warmth of faith magic pressing into his side, and Hubert’s standing before him, hands gently pressed to Ferdinand’s side, hair swept barely enough to the side for Ferdinand to see both his eyes.

“You are free to return to the church if you so wish,” Hubert’s voice is barely a whisper as he continues healing the wounds that Ferdinand had sustained, “I understand this must be a difficult choice for you.”

“Are you sure you are really Hubert? Is the real Hubert still at Garreg Mach spying on the archbishop?” Ferdinand isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, because Hubert’s faith feels warm and shockingly cold all at once, and it’s a feeling he isn’t used to, not after Linhardt’s constant and welcoming warmth. Hubert’s faith feels like a jolt of electricity, one meant to wake him up, but Ferdinand finds him in a trance all the same. Hubert von Vestra would never say these things— would never use faith unless someone was in critical condition, would never allow Ferdinand to make such a free choice of beliefs.

“I mean what I said,” Hubert stands straight once the wound has fully closed up, and Ferdinand can feel the lingering wisps of faith stitching up the final strands of skin and muscle that had been ruptured. Hubert’s hair falls over his eye once more, and there’s a glimmer of something in his eye that Ferdinand doesn’t quite understand. Ferdinand is scared— beyond belief— and with Hubert acting decently towards him, he suddenly isn’t quite sure which he’s more scared of. “I won’t force you to fight for something you don’t believe in. Neither would Lady Edelgard.”

Ferdinand’s heart is pounding in his chest now, the fabric of his uniform vibrating ever so slightly, and he feels the world spinning around him. Could he really betray the church like that? But he’s supposed to be loyal to the Empire. Hubert is looking at him with the kindest eyes Ferdinand has ever seen from anyone throughout his life and it’s making his head spin with uncertainty. 

Hubert had healed him. Hubert, despite all his dislike towards Ferdinand, despite all their quarrels, had healed him. Of course, it could’ve just been a gesture of good will, a final send off should Ferdinand choose to leave— but moments before, Ferdinand hadn’t even been sure if he was going to be given a choice.

He takes one look back into the hideout, past Hubert’s soft and pitiful gaze, and he sees Caspar hyping himself up for battle, sees Linhardt beside him yawning. He sees Petra and Dorothea readying their weapons and spells with nervous smiles, sees Bernadetta cowering in a corner, though he can sense the determination to win radiating from her. He sees his friends, ready to die for Edelgard and her cause, to face the church and everything that Rhea had spent a millenia to build up. Rhea, the Immaculate One, the one who controlled Fódlan from her throne.

He looks back to Hubert, who’s wearing something of a sad smile, and he makes up his mind. He wipes away his tears and allows a grin to stretch across his features.

“I was being foolish. I am more than happy to fight for the Empire,” Ferdinand smiles, stretches his hand out to Hubert, as if to seal their deal with a handshake. Hubert’s smile changes from one of pity to one of subtle joy, and he takes Ferdinand’s hand in his. They both don their gloves yet they can barely feel the warmth of the other’s palm, and it sets Ferdinand’s loyalty in stone.

“Glad to have you on board then, Ferdinand.” For once, his name is not spoken with venomous poison and malicious intent from Hubert’s lips, the ice that used to surround his name beginning to melt as it rolls off Hubert’s sharp tongue. Ferdinand finds the worry that plagued him just moments before begin to fade, as if it were never there in the first place.

“As if there were any options, Hubert.”

* * *

The air changes after that day, after the Professor disappears into the canyon and they take Garreg Mach from the grasps of the church and into their own hands. It’s colder now, air chilly with tension and the atmosphere and solemnity of war weighing heavy in the air. It’s two weeks into the war and Ferdinand already feels his heart growing heavier with each stake he drives through each enemy’s chest.

He’s in his quarters, examining his hair, now at his shoulders. He’s far too tired to trim it, nor does he really care during such a tumultuous period of time, so he ties it back into a short low ponytail that rests between his shoulder blades. The door knocks as he does so, and when he moves to open it, his hair swishes gently with his steps.

It’s also the first thing Hubert notices when he opens the door, eye directly glancing at the small bud of hair behind Ferdinand’s head.

“Not trimming your hair?” Hubert’s is growing out too, but based on his tone, it seems that he plans to trim his rather soon. A reasonable decision, of course, considering the fact that his hair covers half of his face.  
  
“I suppose I will grow it out,” Ferdinand shrugs, a little suspicious as to Hubert’s sudden arrival. It was nearly midnight, what business could Edelgard’s dear vassal have with him at such an hour? “But anyway, what business do you have with me, Hubert? It is nearly midnight.”   
  
Hubert seems oddly distracted, though Ferdinand couldn’t entirely blame the man. He had been up nearly every night finalising strategies and battle plans and revising their supply count and checking stock of provisions— Hubert could use a break. The air between them isn’t crackling with envy and pride anymore, instead it’s warm and perhaps a little welcoming, the raw experience and friendship between two soldiers who had witnessed the other bleeding out.

They don’t hate each other anymore, to say the least.

“My apologies, it seems my fatigue has led me to be rather distracted as of late,” Hubert shakes his head gently, snapping out of his trance, before handing Ferdinand a thin stack of papers, “ Lady Edelgard has requested your assistance in finalising these battle reports from the thieves that tried to raid us a few days ago. I have far too much paperwork to have any time to complete those, but since you were in that fight as well, she wishes for you to help.”  
  
“Of course, you only need to ask,” Ferdinand takes the papers in one hand and places his other hand on Hubert’s shoulder before the vassal can turn away, and flashes him a gentle smile. They look out for each other now— as much as Hubert would hate to admit it— for they both value each other’s lives. If not as friends, as soldiers, at the very least. Losing Hubert would mean losing half the war. “ Please do get some rest.”

“I… suppose I shall,” Hubert doesn’t look at him as he shifts away from Ferdinand, the cavalier’s hand sliding off Hubert’s shoulder almost too easily. It reminds Ferdinand that there’s still a rift between them created by Ferdinand’s naivety and Hubert’s pride, and it stings ever so slightly within Ferdinand’s chest. He shrinks back into his quarters, cradles the paperwork close to his chest as he wishes Hubert a good night, and closes the door before the vassal can say anything further.

If Ferdinand’s face heats at the sound of Hubert’s soft and muffled _ goodnight _ that rings from the other side of the door, he doesn’t notice.

* * *

It’s three years into the war and Ferdinand’s body is painted with scars. There’s a particularly ugly one that splays across his shoulder blade, in an array of bumps and lines that explode from the center of the wound and stretches across his pale skin. It had been from a particularly strong blast of Miasma, one that he had not been prepared for, and the scars that surrounded it had been from the rocks that dug and burned into his skin as he fell off his horse and onto the ground of Aileil.  
  
He barely remembers that injury— save for the aching, burning pain that constantly lingered on his skin— but he does remember seeing Hubert’s face directly above his only moments after he fell, hands pressed tight to his chest as magic flowed from his fingertips into Ferdinand’s body. The Valley of Torment burned his skin, eating away at his armour, but all he could focus on was the bliss of faith magic soothing the pain, cold and refreshing and inviting him to sleep.

Hubert’s faith isn't like it had been all those years ago; perhaps it was from practice and study, perhaps it was from the way Hubert’s touch was desperately pressing into his armor, magic forcing itself out of his calloused fingers, or perhaps it was from the way Hubert had been looking at him, fringe barely lifting off his face, eyes filled with something akin to desperation (Hubert von Vestra would never be vulnerable, especially around Ferdinand).

"Don't you dare die on me, von Aegir." Ferdinand thinks he might have been hallucinating with the way Hubert's voice had broken mid-sentence, desperate and needy as if reaching and grasping for frail strands of hope that reach out from endless shadows.

He remembers reaching out, limp fingers gently brushing across Hubert's pale features as the heat began to claim his consciousness, a gentle smile spreading across his face as he slipped into the dark. When he awoke, he was back in a medic tent a little ways from the battlefield, Linhardt sitting by his side quietly reading a book.

He glances at the scar once more in the mirror, runs his fingers over the bumps and lines, before he dresses and leaves for a war council meeting.

_ Don't you dare die on me, von Aegir; as if Ferdinand would ever leave Hubert all alone. _

* * *

When the Professor comes back, the tides of war drastically shift, and so does the atmosphere surrounding the Black Eagle Strike Force.

Ferdinand sees Hubert sitting alone in the Reception Hall, stacks of paperwork piled before him, and Ferdinand decides to take a seat opposite the loyal vassal. 

"Ever the devoted right hand," Ferdinand muses, resting his chin in his hand. Hubert merely grunts in reply, quill trembling in his hand as he furiously presses ink to parchment. The cavalier doesn't need to ask to realise something is off, so he gently places his hand over Hubert's own, halting the quill's frantic movements and calming the tremors that shake his hand.

"Ferdinand, I have work to do, wha—"

"It is the Professor, is it not?" Ferdinand looks Hubert directly in the eyes as the vassal glances up, only to look away with a scowl. Hubert begins to shift away and Ferdinand tightens his grip, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the cold of Hubert's skin. "Hubert, you know you are invaluable to the—"

"But I am not enough," Hubert's voice is the softest Ferdinand's ever heard it, posture dropping in defeat as he sighs. Part of Ferdinand wants to reach out and embrace Hubert until he feels alright again, but another part of him wants to slap the man all the way to Brigid. "Logically I know having the Professor back drastically increases our chances of winning this war, but I can't help but feel these revolting emotions of jealousy and discontent."

"Let yourself _ feel _ for once, Hubert," Ferdinand pleads, taking the quill and setting it down before flipping Hubert's hand over and pressing his palm to Hubert's. If he were a tad more daring, he might have intertwined their fingers, but Ferdinand's bravery only goes so far. 

_ He feels powerless _ , Ferdinand supposes, _ that he was not able to assist Edelgard in winning the war on his own. _Perhaps it is a foolish feeling, but Hubert is human all the same, and humans are nothing if not fools. For a moment, Ferdinand thinks he sees a trail of water trickle down Hubert's cheek, but it is gone as soon as he notices it.

"I should be on my way, there is another war council meeting soon that I'm required to attend," Hubert turns back, avoiding Ferdinand's gaze entirely as he uses his free hand to gather his things. He stands, hand still connected to Ferdinand's despite the cavalier's loose hold, and the mage gives his hand a gentle squeeze before slipping away back into the shadows.

Ferdinand watches him walk away, yearning to bring him to the light.

* * *

"I never thought I'd be able to sit with you and drink tea like this," Hubert says one afternoon, and it takes Ferdinand the better part of a minute to realise that Hubert is not drinking tea.

"Is that coffee? Imported from Dagda?" He questions, nose scrunching up at the thought of such a bitter taste upon his tongue. However, looking at Hubert bathed by the gentle light streaming in from the windows of the dining hall, perhaps such a bitter taste would not be too bad.

"As expected from a noble," Hubert laughs as he takes a sip, before uncharacteristically sweet words begin pouring from his mouth. Ferdinand figures, as Hubert continues complimenting him, that there must've been too much sugar in his coffee, or perhaps the coffee grounds had gone bad.

"Am I hearing a deathbed confession?" Ferdinand jokes, only to have a jolt of electricity travel down his spine as Hubert's slender fingers delicately brush against his own. Both their hands are gloved, of course, but the friction between the fabric leaves Ferdinand breathless all the same.

Hubert smiles wordlessly, and maybe it's the light from the sun, but his pale skin seems to flush the lightest tinge of pink. Sitting here like this, their hands barely touching as they sip their beverages in each other's silent company, it is as if there is no war waiting for them tomorrow, no chance of death at every corner. It is as if tomorrow they will wake and the world will be okay, and they will have nothing to fear.

"Please put such compliments in writing next time," Ferdinand looks away as he reaches just a slight bit further into the shadow, wrapping his pinky around Hubert's own. He feels Hubert tug back, gripping Ferdinand's finger tightly, and something within his chest buzzes as he realises he's managed to shine a little bit of light on the darkness that dwells within Hubert's heart. "It is like hearing a snake sing an aria."

"In the unlikely event there will be a next time," Hubert shifts, and suddenly he's a noticeable few inches closer than before, and Ferdinand lets the aroma of freshly brewed grounds waft into his nose, and he savours it as if it will be his last breath. "I promise to put it in writing."

They leave together, elbows brushing as they make their way to the Cardinals' Room to pick up more paperwork. If Hubert gently cards his fingers through the ends of Ferdinand's hair as they part moments later, stacks of papers cradled close to their chests, no one notices.

They will have to dance, spin in circles around each other until they are able to wake each morning without grey clouds in the sky and fear of losing gripping their hearts.

* * *

"For me?" is all Ferdinand can say as Hubert holds up a box of Southern Fruit Blend tea with a smile. In his own hands, he holds coffee imported from Dagda, much like the brew Hubert had drank during their first tea break together.

"That is what I said," Hubert turns away, the pale pink that Ferdinand had only witnessed once returning yet again, though it appears a tad darker. Ferdinand feels his heart flutter, his breathing a little easier as they exchange boxes, and it is as if the wounds he had sustained from the battle the day prior were no more.

They brush hands as they exchange gifts, touch lingering a second longer than necessary, and neither of them look the other directly in the eye after. A spin around the ballroom as they hold each other a safe distance apart, hearts beating in perfect synchronisation.

"We shall have a tea break, when time permits," Ferdinand holds the box close to his chest (it smells like coffee, everything seemed to smell of coffee these days) and he beams, gathering enough courage to look Hubert in the eyes. The vassal reaches out, smile absent but eyes melting with affection, hand tucking several stray hairs behind Ferdinand's ear. His fingers graze along Ferdinand's cheekbone, and the cavalier shivers under his touch.

It is a moment only known to them, perhaps the climax of their waltz, as they hide by the stable where no prying eyes can see, and Hubert's hand is gone as soon as it appeared.

"Of course, tea is not what I will be drinking," he says, voice barely a whisper, loud enough only to fall upon Ferdinand's ears. Ferdinand laughs, joyous and relieved and overwhelmingly swallowed in bliss, because Hubert is here and Hubert is alive and Hubert possibly, very possibly, loves him.

"I will be brewing coffee then," He says, the words airy and light, and Hubert merely chuckles in response, brushing against Ferdinand's side as he walks past the cavalier, towards the dining hall. 

"I will brew the tea, then," Hubert speaks as he walks, and Ferdinand runs with a grin to catch up to the shadow who's waiting for his light.

* * *

It feels like the end of an era when the war finally ends. 

Edelgard kneels by the body of the Immaculate One, cradling Byleth gently in her arms as the Goddess' power fades and their hair returns to its original teal colour. Fire engulfs Fhirdiad but the heat is nothing compared to the passionate flames of joy and pride that ring out from the soldiers as Edelgard stands and annouces the long awaited conclusion of the war.

Ferdinand watches the emperor and her beloved meet in a kiss that's been destined to happen, and suddenly something within him is set ablaze as he desperately searches around the battlefield for the slightest hint of black.

He gets off his horse, turns left and right, and is only able to catch a flash of black charging towards him as he's tackled to the ground in a warm embrace. 

His armour scratches against the concrete ground but there is nothing else he can focus on other than the arms that wrap themselves tightly around his torso, the cool sensation of Hubert's face buried in the crook of his neck, and the damp feeling of tears in the same spot where Hubert hid his face. 

He wraps his own arms around Hubert's slender body, an embrace more than five years in the making.

"Hu—"

He's cut off by cold lips pressed to his, and it jolts him awake admist all the warmth and fire that surrounds them. Suddenly there's no more ash in the air, there's no more smell of soot and blood and iron and fear, and it's all replaced by the smell of coffee and bergamot and wine.

It's replaced by Hubert's smile against his lips, it's replaced by the way Hubert gazes at him at they pull apart, and it's replaced by the way Hubert cups Ferdinand's face in his hands ever so delicately, as if the cavalier were rare treasure.

"We did it," Hubert whispers, and Ferdinand can see both his eyes now; hair swept aside messily when he tackled Ferdinand to the ground. Tears leak from both of them, raw and unbridled relief radiating from the dark mage as he planted featherlight kisses all across Ferdinand's face. "We did it."

Hubert whispers it like a prayer, because despite him being the least religious man in Enbarr, perhaps the Goddess would have mercy and spare Ferdinand during these trying, trying times.

"We did it," Ferdinand whispers back, flashing his beloved a toothy grin, and they meet in a kiss again as their dance finally comes to an end.

Light and shadow mix in perfect harmony, and suddenly everything feels warm and safe and it all smells like coffee and tea brewed during a gentle rainy day, where love is in the air you breathe.

In a striking pose, alone in the ballroom, the sun rises and bathes them in its light, signalling the end of their performance, and the beginning of something entirely new.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> tumblr and twittee: kitaguwu
> 
> come yell at me!! comments and kudos are super super appreciated too hehe
> 
> thank you for reading! x


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